very near the main entrance, and if Mr. Brotherson were the man,
his sudden appearance there would thus be accounted for.

To be sure, this gentleman had not been noticed in the coatroom by
the man then in charge, but if the latter had been engaged at that
instant, as he often was, in hanging up or taking down a coat from
the rack, a person might easily pass by him and disappear into the
lobby without attracting his attention. So many people passed that
way from the dining-room beyond, and so many of these were tall,
fine-looking and well-dressed.

It began to look bad for this man, if indeed he were the one we had
seen under the street-lamp; and, as George and I reviewed the
situation, we felt our position to be serious enough for us severally
to set down our impressions of this man before we lost our first
vivid idea. I do not know what George wrote, for he sealed his words
up as soon as he had finished writing, but this is what I put on paper
while my memory was still fresh and my excitement unabated:

He had the look of a man of powerful intellect and determined will,
who shudders while he triumphs; who outwardly washes his hands of
a deed over which he inwardly gloats. This was when he first rose
from the snow. Afterwards he had a moment of fear; plain, human,
everyday fear. But this was evanescent. Before he had turned to
go, he showed the self-possession of one who feels himself so
secure, or is so well-satisfied with himself, that he is no longer
conscious of other emotions.

"Poor fellow," I commented aloud, as I folded up these words; "he
reckoned without you, George. By to-morrow he will be in the hands